


Home

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek A-Z Challenge [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Blood, Dehydration, Derek is looking for his home, Injured Sheriff Stilinski, M/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-10-19 12:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Where is this?”The other—Scott, he’d said his name was—gave him a concerned look before his eyes went puppy-dog-like. “Oh no. Don’t tell me—do you remember who you are? Who I am? Where we are?”“If I remembered where we were, I wouldn’t have asked where this was,” Derek snapped, severely hoping this idiot wasn’t part of his pack.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

He didn’t understand. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing made any sense. Why couldn’t he remember anything?

Well, not _anything_ , but just… most things. He remembered how to breathe, which he supposed was a good thing. Oxygen was required for survival. He remembered how to walk, how to drive. He remembered that he was a werewolf, that he was an Alpha.

But he didn’t remember his name. He didn’t remember where he lived, if he was in a pack, if he had gotten his Alpha status through murder or inheritance.

All he knew was that he had woken up alone on the side of the road with a dead… something beside him. He knew it was a _thing_  and not a _one_  because it smelled off. Weird. It was likely some other form of supernatural creature. Not another werewolf, that he knew for certain, but something magical.

He’d been sitting staring at the bloody pile of torn flesh and bone ever since he’d woken up. He knew he should probably leave the area, he was on the side of the road, covered in blood, beside a humanoid looking _something_  that was very obviously dead. Anyone driving by would probably run off the road in shock and promptly call the police.

Memory or not, he knew what the police was, and how much he did _not_  want to be caught by them.

Shifting forward a little so he could inhale deeply, he scented the thing he’d obviously killed, trying to determine what it was. Smelled like magic, which he’d already determined. He assumed it was some kind of witch or wizard, maybe a druid. The magic was more potent than a simple supernatural, and the air tasted sour.

Of course, that could just be the hot sun baking against rotting flesh, but he still felt inclined to believe it was some kind of witch or wizard.

Grunting and getting slowly to his feet, his limbs ached and he felt dizzy. He was probably dehydrated. It made him wonder how long he’d been out there, and how he’d managed to get away with murdering someone on the side of the road without getting caught.

Choosing not to dwell on it, he turned in a slow circle, inhaling deeply, trying to catch his own scent. The air felt sticky, and the blood on his body had dried, uncomfortable and unwelcome against the bare skin of his arms, neck and mouth. The blood on his shirt had hardened, suggesting he’d really been in the sun too long.

It took him a long time to figure out which direction he had come from. He felt sluggish and in pain. If he didn’t find water soon, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting arrested for murder, his body would kill him long before then.

Finding a faint smell over a day old towards the treeline, he headed in that direction, feet dragging against the grass and eyes heavy. He shook his head with a snarl, forcing himself to stay awake and knowing that once he was in the trees, the relief of being out of the hot sun would likely help.

It seemed to take him hours to get into the shadows of the forest, but was probably only a few minutes. Still longer than it should have, but at least he’d made it.

He took a second to lean against a tree, rough bark digging into his exposed skin. Closing his eyes briefly, he snapped them back open when he realized exhaustion was making him want to fall asleep again. If he did that, he knew he wouldn’t wake up this time. So he just allowed himself two minutes of rest before he set off again.

He followed his own scent through the trees, progress in retracing his steps going slowly. Keeping an ear out for the sound of running water, he estimated at least a mile of walking before he finally came across a stream somewhere to his left. The air beneath the trees was thick and heavy, hot and damp. He honestly didn’t think he would make it to the stream but finally pushed through the last of the trees to find the slow running water.

Unconcerned with the possibility of parasites or contaminants or anything of the sort, he fell to his knees and practically dunked his head into the water, drinking greedily and tasting blood mixed in with the other liquid. It made sense since there was blood all over his face, but he ignored it and drank until he had to jerk upright, gasping in a breath of air.

He almost went back for a second round before feeling like he remembered someone saying to him that drinking too much too fast would make him throw up. He wasn’t sure whose voice it was or why they were talking about consumption of water, but he forced himself to take a moment, washing the blood from his hands, face and neck, being sure to completely rid himself of it before cupping his hands and taking another drink of water.

Despite knowing he should keep moving lest his scent disappear entirely, he double checked that he could still find the lingering smell of his first trek through the forest and then stripped out of his clothes. Pulling a cell phone, a set of keys, and a wallet out of his jeans, he stepped into the stream and did his best to try and wash out as much of the blood as he could.

He remembered enough about society to know that wandering through town in his boxer-briefs would not be well-received, but he also recognized that walking through town in blood-covered clothing would be even worse.

Letting them soak in the water for a time to help rid them of the blood, he stepped back out of the stream and sat on a rock near the bank, picking up the items he’d found. He started with the phone, wanting to get some idea of who was in his contact list, but the screen was black and wouldn’t turn on. The battery was likely drained.

Grabbing the wallet next, he opened it to reveal a California driver’s license with a handsome looking man named Derek Hale. He supposed that had to be him, but honestly wasn’t sure since he couldn’t see himself. The other cards were normal: credit, debit, a library card for some reason. He had no cash.

Picking the keys up next, he tried to figure out what they all might be for. He seemed to have a large amount of them, only one of them obviously belonging to a vehicle. He had another key that looked like it might belong to a car as well, but he couldn’t be sure. If it did, he’d copied the key himself and not gotten an official copy.

Deciding he’d learned all he could from the items, he returned to the stream to try and work at the blood again.

Once he’d scrubbed as much as he could in the small stream, he took another last drink of water before stepping out and yanking his jeans back on. It was hard to get the wet material to do what he wanted, so it took some work getting them up his legs, but they finally settled on his hips and he buttoned them back up. The shirt was easier to pull on, but uncomfortable.

The forest was so humid, and the foliage overhead was so dense, that he doubted his clothes would dry for hours. At least the blood on his shirt looked less obvious and his pants mostly had flecks of the stuff that could now easily be argued away as paint.

He returned to where he’d originally been walking, following his scent back until he caught the older, more faded scent. He began following it once more, feeling much better after his break and hydration.

The sun had begun to set before he heard cars on a nearby road, suggesting he was close to a town. He didn’t venture closer to the road though, worried he would lose his scent entirely. After another ten minutes of walking, it didn’t matter, because too much time had passed and the scent had gone.

He stopped, standing in the middle of the forest, wondering what he should do. His stomach ached with hunger and his limbs were sore. He needed to take a break.

He needed food.

After a brief hesitation, he decided to risk the road, moving through the trees, pushing branches lightly out of his way. It didn’t take long to reach it and he stood in the shadows of the trees for a while longer, watching cars drive back and forth. He began walking slowly parallel to the road, still hidden among the trees but keeping it visible.

The walk back to the town the road led to took an additional hour and a half, making him wonder what had possessed him to chase something so far out of town to murder it. He didn’t dwell on it, slowly making his way closer to the town. The trees were beginning to thin and eventually he had no choice but to step out of the shadows.

He moved stiffly through the streets, eyes on everyone who came near him. Most people didn’t even acknowledge him. Some offered small smiles, others avoided eye contact, and a few old ladies crossed the street to avoid him when they saw him coming.

Checking his clothing once more to ensure the blood truly wasn’t obvious, he had just reached what he thought might be the heart of the town when a dirt bike that had been driving by screeched to a halt, the driver almost flying off it.

A growl rose in his throat automatically at the smell. He recognized this smell, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He smelled like a wolf, but he didn’t smell like pack. He didn’t have his scent lingering on his skin, so he obviously belonged to some rival pack.

“Derek!” A helmet was wrenched off the werewolf’s head, and Derek was surprised to see how young the other looked.

He likely wasn’t older than twenty, skin tanned and dark hair curly and unruly. He had doe-like brown eyes, perfectly straight teeth, and he could smell the relief washing off him.

“Derek, what the hell! Where have you been?! We’ve been looking for you for hours! How could you skip out like that?!”

He sounded angry, now. Relieved and angry at the same time.

This other werewolf obviously knew him, because he’d called him by the same name he’d found on the driver’s license in his wallet. Then again, knowing someone’s name didn’t mean friendship. He was sure he knew many people’s names.

When the other approached him, having moved off the main road, Derek growled low in his throat and shifted back slightly, moving into a more defensive stance, eyes flashing dangerously. There were too many people, and he didn’t remember if werewolves were known or not.

The wolf in front of him stopped, frowning slightly and holding both hands out before himself, one still holding his helmet. “Derek? It’s Scott.” He stopped moving forward, but he didn’t back away, either. “Are you okay?”

“Where is this?”

The other—Scott, he’d said his name was—gave him a concerned look before his eyes went puppy-dog-like. “Oh no. Don’t tell me—do you remember who you are? Who I am? Where we are?”

“If I remembered where we were, I wouldn’t have asked where this was,” Derek snapped, severely hoping this idiot wasn’t part of his pack.

“Shit. She got you.” Scott rubbed the back of his head, let out a sigh, and then set his helmet on the ground. He had both hands out in front of himself again, speaking with a calm, patient tone. “Your name is Derek Hale. This is a town in California called Beacon Hills. It’s where we live.” A quick look around. “We’re werewolves.”

“I figured that part out for myself,” Derek said sharply, not feeling the need to admit he’d remembered that when he’d woken up. “You don’t smell like pack.”

A hurt look crossed Scott’s face before he frowned. “What? Of course we’re pack. I mean, you’re not big on the touchy-feely, so none of us really smell like you, and things have been a little tense since you got your Alpha status back, but we share the duties. We’re definitely pack.”

Derek growled again when Scott’s eyes flashed red, feeling his hackles rise. He didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust this person in front of him, and it was evident Scott recognized this.

Letting his eyes fade back to normal, he kept one hand held up, slowly reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He held it out to Derek slowly, eyes on his face but not quite looking him in the eye, as if knowing Derek would consider that to be a challenge.

Snatching the phone from his hand, he looked down at it, wondering what he was supposed to be doing with it.

“Go ahead and open the text messages. You should be at the top.”

Casting a glance at Scott, Derek scowled but obeyed. The screen came to life when he hit the button at the bottom and he swiped one finger along the screen. It opened onto text messages, names appearing in an order he assumed was the sent order.

At the top was Derek, beneath that Lydia, then Stiles, then Malia, and finally Kira. There was another name beneath the last, but he didn’t want to scroll down. He just tapped on his name at the top, reading from the bottom up.

**[User]**  
DEREK WHERE TF R U?!   
**[User]**  
derek!   
**[User]**  
we found ur jacket r u ok??? cant follow ur scent n e more  
 **[User]**  
malia n liam r out looking 4 u  
 **[User]**  
derek its been sixteen hours! where tf r u???   
**[User]**  
derek i dont care if ur pissed just let me know ur ok  
 **[User]**  
its been four hours r u ok?  
 **[User]**  
stiles is asking where you went  
 **[User]**  
derek just come back!

**[Derek]**  
I’m going to make her pay for what she did!

**[User]**  
shes someone elses problem right now  
 **[User]**  
shes gone  
 **[User]**  
STILES needs u here!  
 **[User]**  
derek we need u here!

**[Derek]**  
She’s dangerous, and what she did is unforgivable.   
**[Derek]**  
I’m not going to let her get away with it!

He stopped reading, glancing up at this Scott person. Apparently they _were_  friends. He still wasn’t sure how much he trusted him, but for the moment, he had no one else so he nodded minutely and held the phone out. Scott took it back and shoved it into his pocket.

“Are you okay? Physically, I mean. I get that mentally you’re a little…” he trailed off and pressed his lips together.

Derek scowled again, looking around the area in an attempt to determine if anything looked familiar.

It didn’t.

“Come on, we should go see Deaton.”

Derek didn’t know who that was, but he nodded stiffly.

Scott seemed to read that he wasn’t willing to climb onto the back of his bike, so he left it where it was, parked on the side of the road, and the two of them walked in silence. He could smell anxiety and concern coming off Scott, but he didn’t let that bother him. He just kept looking around, trying to see if anything caught his attention.

After all the walking he’d done, the continued trek was hard on him, but he managed to make it to where this Deaton person worked. He was displeased when he saw the veterinary clinic, wondering if Scott was making a joke, but the other werewolf stepped through the front door and called out to someone unseen.

A dark-skinned man with a kind smile and knowledge glinting in his eyes stepped out of the back room. He seemed relieved to see Derek, too.

“Derek. Glad you’ve returned unharmed. Everything all right?” He looked at Scott. “How’s Stiles? I haven’t been by since I dropped off the antidote.”

“Not great, but Lydia and Kira are with him.” He motioned Derek. “I’m here for him.”

Deaton’s eyes shifted to Derek and the werewolf inhaled. Something about this man smelled familiar, but he still wasn’t sure how much he trusted him. He smelled… off. Different.

Not entirely human.

“I see,” Deaton said slowly. “This is something of a problem.”

“I haven’t even told you anything yet,” Scott insisted, almost pouting, as if Deaton had stolen his thunder.

“I can sense the magic. His open hostility is also a clear indicator that something isn’t right. I would imagine he was hit with some sort of amnesia spell.” Deaton pushed open the small gate that lead to the back rooms and moved forward slowly, extending one hand. “May I?”

Derek wasn’t sure he trusted him, but he had no other options right now, so he nodded stiffly once more and the vet stepped forward. He placed his hands on Derek’s face, fingers too close to his neck for comfort, but he just growled low in his throat and managed to resist the urge to tear the man’s throat out.

Deaton only stayed there for a few moments before humming and taking a step back, looking at Scott. “It isn’t serious. Could have been worse. He’ll get his memory back on his own, he just needs a trigger.”

“Okay, but what do we do with him in the meantime?” Scott asked, shifting his weight. Derek noticed he had his phone in his hand, meaning he’d been texting people while he hadn’t been looking at him.

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing that can be done. His memory will come back on its own. For now, might I suggest a change of clothes, some food, and a good night’s rest?”

Derek liked the sound of that, and felt that was probably why he relaxed five percent. Deaton could obviously tell how exhausted he was, which he appreciated.

And starving. He was fucking starving.

“I guess I’ll take you home,” Scott said, reaching out as if to slap Derek on the back. The werewolf moved away from him quickly, having Scott’s hand slap at thin air. He seemed to recognize his mistake, and backed up a step, both hands raised, an apology in his expression.

Derek felt Scott was lucky he hadn’t just torn his throat out for that.

They left the clinic together moments later, when Derek felt calmer. The walk back to his place was, thankfully, fairly short. Only ten minutes or so. When they reached a large warehouse, Derek thought Scott was joking, but his scent was very heavy here. It was a place he came and went from frequently.

He allowed the other to lead him inside, up a set of stairs, and then through a large sliding door. Beyond, there was a large loft, with floor to ceiling windows, meager furnishings, and a metal staircase that led up into darkness.

Derek looked around slowly, hearing Scott shifting behind him. He turned to look at him and found him hovering by the door with his hands in his pockets.

“Recognize anything?”

“No,” he grumbled, turning back to the loft at large. Everything smelled like him, with various other scents intermingling, but they were faint, as if they hadn’t been there in a while. He could barely pick them up beneath his own.

Moving slowly through the apartment, his stomach growled when he reached the kitchen counter. He moved around it and opened the fridge, scowling at the limited food presented to him.

Scott offered to run out and grab food when Derek’s hunt for nourishment turned up two granola bars, a jar of pickles, some ketchup packets, expired milk, cheese and minced beef he was positive would grow legs soon and start mooing it was so old.

Derek let the other leave to fetch food, moving slowly through the apartment and touching various items. He picked up the books on his shelf, leafing through them before setting them back down. He sat on his bed, looking around, then stood to stare out the window. He found his phone charger and plugged in his phone. When it had enough battery to allow him to turn it on, he saw that it was password protected, but the home screen showed Scott’s last few messages, proving they really _did_  know one another.

When Scott returned, he came back with a sealed box of crackers and two cans of soup. Derek wished he’d gotten something better, but at his scowl of annoyance, Scott explained he’d assumed Derek wouldn’t eat anything he bought him unless it was sealed and impossible for him to have done anything malicious to.

Realistically, he was right, but Derek wouldn’t admit that to him. He just snatched the soup and crackers from him, dumping both cans into a pot and eating an entire sleeve of crackers before it had warmed up. He felt sick when he ate too fast, but he managed not to throw anything up, which he supposed was a good thing.

Once he was done, he wandered around the apartment some more, Scott hovering by the door.

“This doesn’t feel like home,” Derek admitted with a scowl. “Are you sure this is my place?”

“Of course it is,” Scott said, confused. “Unless… Well, you have another house, but I don’t think—”

“Show me.”

Scott sighed, seeming unhappy with this request, but he nodded. He called someone—another werewolf named Liam, from what Derek could gather—and then they headed outside. When they reached the front of the warehouse, Scott told him to “sit tight,” which Derek just scowled at.

Five minutes later, a car pulled up. He didn’t pay much attention to the people in the car, more concerned with the fact that he was now outnumbered, but he followed Scott towards it anyway, feeling his claws extend. He could fight his way out of this if necessary, he was sure.

“Are you actually less of an asshole now that your memory’s gone?” the girl in the passenger seat asked, turning to face him when he entered the car.

He glared at her and she scoffed, shaking her head.

“Guess not.”

“Malia,” Scott said, seeming almost horrified, but Derek wasn’t bothered. At least someone here wasn’t walking around like they were on eggshells.

The drive was short, the driver—who was evidently the Liam Scott had called—making his way through town quickly and towards what seemed to be some kind of preserve. Once they arrived, they parked on the side of the road and Scott explained that Liam’s car didn’t do well on the rough path of the forest. Without another word, the three of them headed into the brush, but Derek followed more cautiously. If they wanted to ambush him, this would be the perfect opportunity.

He kept his senses on high alert, listening, smelling and looking for anything out of place. As far as he could tell, there was nothing to be suspicious of, and the other three just walked through the trees without any problems.

Eventually, they entered a large clearing and Derek realized there was an overgrown path leading out towards the road, along with a house. It looked like it had been in a terrible fire, the smell of the wood still acrid despite it obviously having happened years ago. The porch steps creaked ominously beneath their combined weight, and when they entered through the front, he saw that most of the second floor had collapsed in on the first, the outside making the damage seem less extreme than it truly was.

He wandered slowly through the rooms, picking his way across fallen posts and debris. He couldn’t go very far in any direction due to the collapsed second floor, but he looked at as much as he could.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“Your house,” Scott said quietly. “Used to be, anyway. It burned down when you were a teenager, but you lived here for a while when you moved back to Beacon Hills.”

It didn’t feel like home, either. It just felt depressing and made him angry. He didn’t like this place, and he wondered what sort of friends would bring him to a place like this. He ignored the fact that he’d technically asked to be brought there. A true friend would’ve insisted it wasn’t a good place for him to be.

His head snapped towards the door and he snarled when he heard a car approaching. This was a trap, they were trying to isolate him.

Scott seemed to recognize this because he held his hands out, as if to calm him, and insisted it was just the rest of the pack. Derek backed up slowly, trying to keep a wall behind him so no one could sneak up on him. He felt cornered, and he could tell Scott knew how dangerous cornered animals felt.

His eyes flicked to the door when two more individuals came in. The first was short and beautiful, with red hair and an air of superiority that seemed to suit her, for some reason. The second was a lithe Asian girl, just as gorgeous as the redhead, with sharp eyes and a sword strapped to her back.

Both of them cast worried glances at Derek, staying on the other side of the room. He realized that they looked uncomfortable because he’d unconsciously let the wolf out, claws at his fingertips and fangs in his mouth.

“Derek, they’re pack,” Scott insisted, and it looked like he wanted to say more, but just sighed and seemed to find something else more interesting to discuss because he turned to the redhead and asked, “How’s Stiles?”

“Your mom is with him,” she replied, eyes on Derek. “How’s this situation going? Doesn’t look too great.”

“He doesn’t trust us,” Scott sighed, defeated.

“Isn’t that normal for Derek?” the girl named Malia asked with a snort. That earned her a glare from the other Alpha, but she didn’t apologize. Just shrugged. “What? It’s true. The only person he acts human around is Stiles.”

Liam hesitated briefly before saying, “Maybe we should call Sti—”

“No,” the redhead snapped, flipping hair over her shoulder with the flick of her wrist. “We’re not dragging him into this right now. He needs to be with his dad, we can handle this ourselves. How hard can it be?” She lifted her chin defiantly and moved forward, Scott hissing her name—Lydia, apparently—before stopping a few feet from a wolfed-out Derek.

“I know this might be hard for your little brain to understand, Derek, but this is your pack, we’re your friends, and we care about you. Right now, this isn’t about you, and we don’t have time for your amnesia. If you don’t want to trust us, that’s fine, but we can’t spend our time babysitting you right now and there’s someone who really needs to see you. So wake up.”

She clapped her hands together loudly at the end of her tirade and Derek roared. The startled look on her face disappeared when Scott jumped in front of her, eyes flashing red, fangs sprouting, and he responded with a roar of his own.

“Stop, stop!” The Asian girl hurried forward, staying behind Scott, but a little to the side so Derek could see her. “This isn’t going to work. As much as we don’t like it, we need Stiles.”

“We can’t—”

“Scott, Derek _listens_  to him. Of everyone in the pack, he’s the one that gets through to him. He doesn’t need to get his memories back now, we can ease into that, but we need him to at least _trust_  us so he doesn’t go crazy on the town.”

Derek wasn’t going to go crazy on the town. He just didn’t like feeling cornered, with three werewolves and two unknown but obviously supernatural beings. Five against one was a lot, especially considering Derek wasn’t the only Alpha in the room.

“Scott, we need Stiles,” the girl repeated more calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Kira’s right,” Liam insisted. “Timing’s not great, but the only person who can help us right now is Stiles, and you both know it.” He pressed his lips together, looking at Lydia, who didn’t seem happy.

Scott didn’t seem happy about it, either, eyes flashing dangerously, but he muttered something under his breath and pulled his phone out. He pulled the wolf back, but didn’t drop his defensive stance. Derek noticed the other two werewolves had inched closer, as if the five of them were trying to stay together in case Derek attacked.

That was when he noticed that Malia seemed to be… different. She was definitely of the “were” family, but not a werewolf. She had a different scent from Scott and Liam.

_“Hey, Lyds said you found him, is he okay?”_  a voice said, Derek’s eyes snapping back to Scott. He’d dialled a number to call this “Stiles” person while Derek had been watching the others in the pack.

Though Scott wasn’t on speaker, Derek’s hearing picked up the other voice loud and clear. He sounded familiar, and something about his voice made an ache form in his chest. He ignored the feeling, glaring at Scott while the other spoke, their eyes locked on one another.

“Okay, don’t freak out—”

_“Don’t freak out? Really, Scotty? You **do**  know that starting **any**  conversation with the words ‘don’t freak out’ will automatically have me freaking out. Why would you do that to me right now?!”_ His voice had gone high. Shrill and panicked. Like he was having a bad day and it just seemed to be getting worse and worse.

“Stiles, Stiles!” Scott had to raise his voice to be heard over the frantic babbling on the other end. “Stiles, he’s okay. He’s all right, he’s not hurt or anything.”

_“Jesus, Scott! Start with **that**  next time!”_ There was laboured breathing on the other end, and Derek could detect a tremble in every exhale. _“Shit. Don’t do that to me.”_

“Sorry.” Scott meant it, too. “How’s your dad?”

_“That witch bitch really fucked up his insides, but he’s gonna be okay. The weird potion thing Deaton brought over earlier for his IV is finally starting to kick in. Doctors are having a field day since they don’t know your mom switched out the bags, but…”_  Another shaky exhale. _“I thought I was gonna lose him,”_  he whispered, the fear evident in his voice.

“I know,” Scott said quietly. “It’s why Derek went all vengeful on said witch bitch. Pretty sure she’s dead, he reeks of blood.” Scott eyed him suspiciously. “At least, I _hope_  it’s her blood and not an innocent human’s.”

Derek said nothing. He was fairly certain it was the witch, but he wanted this conversation to end. Hearing the other voice was making his chest ache, and he was finding it hard to breathe.

_"Good,”_ was the other’s dark reply. _“But you said not to freak out, so obviously there’s something to freak out about. What happened?”_

Derek listened while Scott explained the situation, the person on the other end sounding annoyed and frustrated that he hadn’t been told about it. He assumed that all he’d been told was that Derek had been found, not that something was wrong with him.

Scott ended the conversation by saying he didn’t want to pull him away from his dad, but that just earned him a snapped insult and silence, Stiles having hung up. With a sigh, he informed the room at large that Stiles was on his way, which seemed redundant to Derek, but then he realized two of the people in the room evidently did not possess superior hearing.

The fifteen minutes they waited were tense, Derek not dropping his stance or retracting his wolfish features. Scott looked human once more, but he also kept on the defensive, being sure to keep the rest of the pack behind him, protecting them.

When they finally heard a car approaching, Derek noticed Scott relaxing ever so slightly, as if whoever was coming was the most important person in their pack. He had to wonder what he was, considering the other supernaturals in the house seemed to rely on him a fair bit. Was he magical? Or perhaps another werewolf who’d been an Alpha far longer than either he or Scott? Or even another form of supernatural being that surpassed werewolves? Whatever he was, it was something big.

A car door outside slammed and hurried footsteps crunched over fallen leaves. The boards creaked under the weight of this Stiles person and then he was in the house.

The first thing Derek’s brain registered was that he was human. Completely and entirely human. Nothing supernatural about him in the slightest. To know the pack relied so heavily on someone who could be killed so easily was almost laughable.

That feeling lasted only a second, because once he saw him, _really_  saw him, and inhaled deeply, something in his chest seemed to crack and he surged forward. Scott was on him instantly and Derek roared in his face, shoving hard at him.

He would’ve sent him flying except Liam appeared behind Scott to keep him on his feet, and together the two other werewolves wrestled him backwards and slammed him hard against the wall. He snarled and growled angrily, struggling against their hold, managing to pull away slightly from Liam before Scott twisted and kept him firmly against the wall until Liam could regain his grip.

Derek roared again, anger coursing through him like fire. He needed to get to him. He needed to reach Stiles. Nothing else had ever seemed so important in his life other than getting across the room and reaching Stiles.

It took considerable effort, but he shook off Liam and lunged across the room, dragging Scott along. Malia appeared then, shoving at him until Liam could grab him once more and the three of them wrestled him back against the wall.

The Asian girl had whipped out her sword and the redhead had backed away towards Stiles. He stood in front of her protectively, one hand out to the side, keeping her behind him.

He didn’t look frightened, or even concerned. He just looked confused, light hazel eyes searching Derek’s face. He wished he could get his own thoughts into words, but in this moment, all he could think about was getting to Stiles. He had to get across the room to Stiles.

“Guys,” Stiles said, voice sounding richer and more familiar in person than it had over the phone. “Guys, I think it’s okay. I think you can let him go.”

“Are you nuts?!” Malia demanded, struggling to keep Derek against the wall since he was still fighting to free himself.

“No, I’m serious, I think it’s okay. I don’t think he wants to hurt me.”

“I’ll write that on your tombstone,” Scott snarled. “‘Here lies Stiles Stilinski, who died because he didn’t _think_  a werewolf was going to hurt him’.”

Stiles let out a frustrated sound and moved forward instead, but Kira grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He let out an exasperated sigh, flailing his arms slightly, as if people not trusting his judgement was a common occurrence and it annoyed him.

“Listen, you all know I wouldn’t take a risk like this if I wasn’t sure. Derek is still Derek, and I trust him. He reacted when he saw me, so obviously that’s something. He won’t hurt me, I know it. Let him go.”

Scott turned to glare at him, snarling loudly before cursing colourfully under his breath.

“Your tombstone’s gonna say, ‘Scott was very against this plan’ instead,” he muttered, but then he loosened his grip and nodded to Malia and Liam.

Derek wasted no time, wrenching free of them when they didn’t release him fast enough and surging forward across the room. Stiles stood his ground but he _did_  clench his eyes shut when Derek leapt at him.

The werewolf heard more than saw everyone in the room tense, the sounds of muscles snapping taut when he slammed into the human, wrapped his arms around him, and buried his face in his neck.

Home. He smelled like home. This person wasn’t just a person, he was _Derek’s_. Maybe not in all the ways Derek wanted, but he felt like safety, and trust, and friendship.

He smelled like home.

Derek rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ neck, the wolf receding so that his features returned to normal. He tightened his hold when the other shifted uncomfortably.

“Right. Uh, okay. Yeah. Personal space, buddy?”

“Personal space?” he heard Lydia ask with a scoff. Her voice still sounded tight, like she was worried, but she tried for light and teasing. “Derek’s always all up in your space, Stilinski.”

“Yeah, but usually it’s angry personal space invasion. Like, shoving me against doors, or throwing me across rooms.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then sighed and hesitantly wrapped his arms around Derek, as if unsure of his welcome. “You okay there, big guy? We were worried about you. Always running off into danger without backup, huh, Derek?”

Hearing his name made the ache in his chest finally snap, and immediately it was like all the tension in his body melted away. He expected the memories to return gradually, but it was like being hit by a freight train, everything just slamming back into him at once. The fire, his family, Kate, Peter, Alpha packs and Beserkers.

And Stiles. Whom he was nuzzling.

Derek tensed.

“Oh good, you’re back,” Stiles said, wiggling in Derek’s arms until the older man slowly released him. He looked down the few inches that separated them to find Stiles grinning broadly, slapping him in the arm lightly. “Welcome back, dude.”

“How…” Derek wanted to ask how he’d done it. How Stiles had brought everything rushing back, but he didn’t want to think about the possibility behind that, so he instead asked, “How did you know I was back?”

“You tensed.” Stiles shrugged. “That is a very normal Derek Hale thing to do. Good to see you, buddy. Thanks for not ripping out my throat while you were all up in there.” He slapped him in the arm again, then looked at the others. “I’m heading back to the hospital to check on dad. Crisis averted. Resident human saves the day again. You’re welcome.” He grinned cockily, inching backwards towards the door. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Derek allowed him to get to the bottom of the porch before he followed, ignoring the shared looks and confused muttering behind him. He hurried out of the house and reached the Jeep just as Stiles was putting on his seatbelt.

He stared at Derek when the other climbed into the piece of junk and crossed his arms, scowling out at the front of his destroyed childhood home.

“Uh… hi?”

“Drive.”

“You need a ride home?”

Home. He’d never realized it until now. Until he’d been looking for his home, and hadn’t been able to find it. Home wasn’t where his possessions were or where he spent his time. Home was where he felt safe. Where he felt wanted, and appreciated.

And loved.

Stiles was his home.

But no way was he telling _him_  that.

“No, I’m going with you. To the hospital. To see the sheriff.”

Stiles seemed startled, but then he grinned and, without questioning it, he started the car and backed out, heading back towards the road. He seemed relaxed, and while he still had some anxiety leaking off him, likely worry for his father, he was otherwise happy.

“I killed the witch,” Derek said when they neared the hospital.

“I know,” Stiles said. “I figured. Thanks.”

He turned to scowl at him. “I didn’t do it for you,” he snapped, but knew that was a lie. Stiles seemed to know, too, because he just turned to grin at him.

They parked in the lot of the hospital moments later, but before entering, the teen turned to Derek. “Before we go in, I need to say something.” Stiles took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, “Don’t ever fucking run off on us without a word or backup again, you stupid, selfish asshole!”

Then, he punched Derek in the face.

And broke his hand.

Luckily they were already at the hospital.

**END.**


End file.
